


I Feel God in this Glory Hole Tonight

by HakeberHooligan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Glory Hole, Haha jk, Knotting, M/M, Sex Worker Stiles Stilinski, Soulmates, What if we found love in a glory hole, unless???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakeberHooligan/pseuds/HakeberHooligan
Summary: Peter isn't a man that has to pay to get laid. He's successful, good-looking, and charming. Still, a shitty client at his art gallery gives him an itch that needs scratching, so he goes somewhere he can let loose without giving away the fact that he's less than human. Enter Todd, the glory hole sex worker that leaves him tied in knots and reevaluating his most recent life choices.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 20
Kudos: 589





	I Feel God in this Glory Hole Tonight

Peter’s had a long day.

For the tenth time in almost as many hours, he wonders what possessed him to forsake his family fortune in an attempt to make his own. He could be the CEO of Hale Technologies by now. Instead, his nephew sits on  _ that  _ throne while he wades his way through the perils of the art industry.

What was supposed to be a day filled with preparing the gallery for its next show - which was booked  _ months  _ in advance - turned into an absolute  _ shitshow  _ when the photographer, Matt Daehler, blew into town demanding that his gallery slice their profits from fifteen percent to three percent.

Three  _ fucking  _ percent.

Peter isn’t starving by any means. He has a luxurious condo in a decent area, and he’s happy. He loves his job, spends money when he wants to, and works hard to supplement his lifestyle. But he’ll be fucking  _ damned  _ if some smug-pants asshole with a camcorder thinks they can strong arm him in the last second and try to harass him into a shitty, ego-stroking deal.

So Peter had cancelled the entire six-week show. Of course, Matt had immediately seen the error of his ways, trying desperately to backtrack, telling Peter that he’d boost his cut to ten percent.

Peter was  _ done. _

He’d been so furious he had to turn on the spot, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the supernatural blue that burned around his pupils.

Matt was never going to book another show this side of the country again. Peter made sure of it, spending the remainder of his afternoon contacting every single other gallery owner he knew in his circle. Peter himself was going to lose thousands of dollars. It wasn’t going to majorly financially cripple him, but he was going to have to make certain budget cutbacks until he could figure this fucking catastrophe out.

But that’s tomorrow Peter’s problem.

Today Peter needs to unwind.

He drives through the city, careful not to break any traffic laws. A low, disgruntled growl rumbles deep within his chest. He swallows down the noise, taking several, calming breaths.

A run would be optimal, where he could shed his human skin, feel leaves and branches and long grass brush through his fur while he bounded free, until his lungs burned and his legs shook. But the sun is still high in the sky, and the closest swath of forest is well over an hour away.

He turns into the parking lot of Silver Plaything Gentleman’s Club, stepping out of the car without waiting for the valet to greet him first. He silently hands the man a fifty on the way. He’s learned that if you tip first, they’ll take special care of your vehicle. His McLaren is only a few months old, and he doesn’t want to return to it scratched or dented.

He’s only been here once before, with a business associate and the artist they’d been hosting. The club had smelt of stale alcohol, sex, and sweat. He hated every minute they were there. The one thing he does remember, however, is the glory holes.

Normally this would be below him.

He’s not a man that has to pay for sex. Men and women, he’s had his fair share of both. They come and they go, never here for long, but Peter doesn’t mind. He’s not looking for love. Love is complicated, restrictive, and messy. He’s content with beneficial friends and one-night stands.

There’s a Were couple he sees on occasion, but they’re on vacation in Hawaii until next weekend. He has other friends, ones he sometimes fucks, but they’re human and he doesn’t trust himself with the dark mood he’s in. This way, he can fuck the stress away and have a wall as a barrier to protect whatever poor soul is on the other side.

He goes up to the bar and orders a double shot of scotch. It won’t do anything, but he enjoys the taste paired with the temporary burn as it slides down his throat and settles in his belly.

“Is anyone working out back this early?” He asks the bartender without preamble. 

“Tuesdays are slow, so it’s just going to be Todd. Is a dude okay?”

Peter gives him a sharp smile with no warmth.

“A ‘dude’ would be lovely,” he replies.

The bartender calls over a topless waitress, who leads him out back with barely-concealed lewd looks.

“Sure I can’t scratch that itch?” She asks with a pout, looking him up and down. She really is a gorgeous woman, and his cock even gives an interested twitch in his slacks.

“Maybe next time, sweetheart,” he purrs, giving her a wink for good measure. Now that he’s been offered a man, that’s what he’s craving. She doesn’t push, just concedes with a wink of her own and continues to lead him down a long hallway before stopping at one of the doors.

“He’s all yours,” she says, opening the door and stepping aside to let Peter through. He closes and locks it behind himself. He turns and looks at the curtain for what he assumes is privacy before pulling it aside and steps around it, letting it fall back into place.

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but the room is surprisingly upscale. There’s a table with a bottle of lube and an expensive upholstered chair to put belongings. He doesn’t disrobe at all. He won’t be here long.

Lastly, he looks at the waist-high hole in the wall. He already knew that the place was high-end, but it was obviously built with a glory hole in mind. The wall is straight until about waist-high, then it slopes back, allowing the customer to lean over it. There’s handles attached to the wall for gripping, and between them is a square piece of metal with holes, which he assumes is for communication. 

All in all, he’s impressed.

Even though the room is poorly lit, Peter can make out the glistening, puckered hole pushed against it from the other side of the thin wall. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” a voice floats through the metal grate. Despite the setting, Peter finds himself drawn to the voice, eager to hear how it sounds when he’s being fucked. “I’m already stretched and prepped for you.”

Peter swallows thickly, feeling his cock begin to rapidly fill at the invitation. He undoes his belt and lets his pants fall to his knees, pulling his boxers down to hook them under his balls. Normally he would spend a great deal of time prepping his lover, but he’s wound so tight and unbelievably ready to dive into the hole in front of him, he doesn’t waste time.

“I would love nothing more, sweetheart,” he says, slightly embarrassed at how breathless sounds. It’s the stress. He’s had one hell of a day, and he’s off his game.

As he’s reaching for the lube, he notices that there isn’t a condom on the table, but it doesn’t bother him. As a shifter, he’s immune to and communicable disease. If this sex worker wants to play risky, that’s no skin off his back.

He pumps a glob of cool lube onto his hand and works it over his cock, slicking himself up. He steps forward without a word and slowly feeds his cock through the glory hole and into the one waiting for him.

He groans lowly when the head pops past the tight ring of muscle, surprised by how good it feels. Todd mirrors the noise, more breathless and a pitch higher.  _ Fuck.  _ Peter knows he’s faking it, performing for a better tip, but he almost has Peter convinced. He grasps the handles for leverage and pushes in further. The deeper he sinks into Todd, the more the tension in his shoulders seep out of his muscles and he feels his whole body relax. It’s only a handful of seconds before he bottoms out and stills, Todd squirming on his cock like a cat in heat.

“Oh, fuck. Your dick feels like fucking heaven.”

That gets a genuine chuckle out of Peter, who’s nearly forgotten the reason that drove him here in the first place.

“I bet you say that to all of the men this side of the wall,” he says, leaning in close and speaking through the grate. He can smell Todd’s arousal, and it's nothing short of intoxicating. An unbidden memory of his human high-school friends doing whip-its flashes to the front of his mind, and he wonders if this is what that felt like.

He pulls back slowly, loving the drag on his cock and the sounds it elicits from Todd.  _ Now _ he knows what all of the fuss about glory holes is about. He’s not sure if it’s in the way they prep their workers, or the thrill of fucking a stranger through a wall, but Peter doesn’t think it’s ever felt this good before. He pushes forward a little quicker this time, still slow but eager to resheath himself into the man.

Todd whimpers, and Peter can feel him rutting against whatever bench he’s likely laid on.

“Of course I do,” he finally replies with a playful tone. “But I never actually  _ mean  _ it.”

Peter doesn’t reply, still encompassed in the feeling of complete and utter  _ euphoria.  _ He keeps the rhythm steady, loving each and every little moan and whine that Todd makes.

Todd must have been trained by the best in his field. Peter can tell when a lover is faking it. Scents, heartbeat, small movements and twitches. He doesn't have the luxury of that with Todd. He can use those senses to an extent, but the wall and lack of touch plays against him.

Still, he’s well attuned to the sounds they make, can easily gauge off of that alone. And Todd… it doesn’t sound like an act. He sounds like he’s truly enjoying this, being fucked by Peter through a wall for money. A part of Peter pities him. A larger part thanks any deity that will listen that the man has no shame.

“Ah, fuck,” Peter pants, speeding up and adjusting his grip. Even though he planned on this being a quick in-and-out to release steam, he doesn’t expect to be reaching his climax so soon. Todd is right there with him though, grinding against the hole for maximum contact and spitting a litany of filth.

“God, yes. Fuck me harder. Want you to come in me, fill me, mark me. Wish your hands were running up my body, wish you were sinking your teeth into me…”

The words make Peter go wild. He shouldn’t be this rough, and he hopes that the separation of the wall is enough to protect the fragile human on the other side. Todd, however, is meeting him thrust for thrust, moving forward when he pulls back and pressing backwards when he thrusts forward.

Peter feels like he’s set to explode. His orgasm slowly starts to swell at the base of his cock and he jackhammers into Todd, eager to tip over the edge into sweet release. 

“Fuck, Todd.” using a prostitute's name  _ should _ feel wrong on his tongue, but it doesn’t in the slightest. His orgasm continues to build, and he’s sure that he’s fit to go insane if he doesn’t come right now.

“No, fuck, wait…” Todd slurs, pulling away a bit. He feels strange on Peter, a tug like there's something keeping Todd bound to him. Peter has a stark moment of terrifying clarity, and then his orgasm hits.

His mind whites out when he orgasms, his cock pulsing deep in the ass he’s buried in. His mate. A stranger, a  _ whore  _ who he’s apparently knotted. Todd keens, and Peter can tell from the clench on his cock that he’s coming too, groaning and moaning in time with Peter.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a wolf,” Peter says. Or at least, he tries to. What comes out is a slurred, embarrassing, whining moan. Putting together words is beyond him. He’s riding an unbelievable high right now, experiencing the best orgasm he’s ever had. His cock  _ finally _ finishes spurting cum and he leans forward to rest his upper half on the slanted wall, spent.

For a long moment, the only noise Peter can hear is their ragged breaths. Then he hears a door on the other side of the wall click open. He’s not too keen on the apparent intrusion, but any thought of indignation leaves his mind when he feels Todd pulling experimentally, gently trying to free himself. Aftershocks of pleasure shoot through his body, rendering him speechless.

“Ah, beans.”

“What the fuck did you do, Stiles?” A gravelly voice asks on the other side.

“Why are you so convinced it was me that’s done something?” Todd - Stiles? - asks, squirming on Peter’s knot again and making him grit his teeth.

“Because, Stiles,  _ ‘ah beans’  _ means you fucked up.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Peter pipes up, fighting to keep the afterglow waver out of his voice. “There’s a small, um,  _ issue-” _

“The fucker knotted me, Chris.” Stiles says without delicacy. Peter sucks in a sharp breath. Knotting can only be done between shifters, and inside of that, only between mates. Stiles’ handler probably doesn’t have a lick of an idea what-

“You’re kidding me,” Chris says with a long-suffering sigh. “Only you would find true love in a fucking  _ glory hole,  _ kid.”

Apparently, the man is in the know. Perhaps he’s a shifter himself. Peter’s curiosity is piqued. He wants to ask questions, but he can feel a shiver run through the body he’s tied to and it makes him groan.

“Just, give us some time,” Stiles gasps, shamelessly pressing back onto Peter’s cock. “Neither of us are going anywhere for awhile.”

“Yeah, you’re fine. Let me know if you need something.” Peter hears the door open. “Oh. And congrats, if that’s something you people celebrate.”

“suck my dick, old man,” Stiles says without venom. Peter hears the door close, and it’s just back to him and Stiles.

“So how long do you think this is gonna last?” Stiles asks, slightly pulling away. The pressure of the tight rim against his knot has Peter keening, unable to think much past  _ fuck-claim-mine. _

“I don’t- I can’t- can we…?” Peter tried his best to thrust with what little room he has, eager to chase another orgasm.

“Yeah, let's do that,” Stiles agrees, pressing back and giving Peter some room to move. Peter wastes no time, rushing to chase that amazing feeling again. The handles bolted to the wall creak, dangerously close to being torn from their anchors.

He can’t believe how fast he comes the second time. Shifters naturally have a superior refractory period, but never like this. He can feel copious amounts of cum spurt from him again and judging by Stiles’ noises, he’s right there with him, enjoying the ride.

Peter takes deep breaths, trying to gather his thoughts while his heart rate returns to normal.

“The knot should deflate in a few more minutes,” he answers Stiles’ previous question. Stiles only hums in reply, sounding like he’s lost in a haze.

“So you’re a wolf.” Peter states the obvious, interested in his apparent mate. In and of itself, finding a mate isn’t all that rare. He even knows folks who have two or three, but the circumstances behind  _ this _ bond are certainly… unconventional.

“Wolf? Nah, I’m a fox,” Stiles replies with ease.

“A  _ fox?”  _ A small snarl rises unbidden from his throat. A tiny, cruel part of Peter wants to pluck his cock out of the fuck hole he’s stuck in, regardless of the pain it would cause to both of them. But a  _ fox?  _ He can already see his nephew and nieces’ smug grins of delight when they learn about his inter-shifter romance.

“Why couldn’t I smell you?” He growls in irritation.

“Foxes can cover their scent, dude. I don't like strangers knowing what I am. Why, me being a fox gonna be an issue?” 

There’s a challenging edge to Stiles’ voice. Peter’s obviously offended him. Regardless, he doesn’t appreciate the attitude. Of  _ course  _ it’s going to be a problem. Shifters generally stick to their own ilk. A wolf and a fox shouldn’t be copulating, much less  _ mated _ .

“No more of an issue than being mated to a whore I suppose,” Peter spits back.

“Hey! I’m just trying to make a living, asshole. Don’t pretend like you’re any better, you paid to stick your dick in a stranger.”

Peter snarls and pulls his hips back, the knot tugging on Stiles’ hole and forcing him to press against the one they’re using. He yelps, followed by a thin growl of his own.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on you and teach you some proper manners,” Peter says, already warring with feelings of possession and repulse over the man he’s never even laid eyes on.

He snaps his hips forward, thrusting the small amount of leeway he has into Stiles to push his point home. He gets a satisfying moan in return.

“And I can’t wait to defy you at every turn until you’re driven to insanity,” Stiles shoots back, even as he presses into each brutal movement. Peter fucks into him, wishing there wasn’t a wall separating them.

“How attached to the decor is the owner?” He asks between grunts.

Stiles sounds like the laughs are being punched out of him.

“Dude, he’s gonna  _ kill  _ you.”

Peter doesn’t care. He pauses long enough to slam both hands down, breaking through the wall that separates them. He drops claw and rips aside large broken chunks until he can see the top half of his mate.

Laying on his stomach on a bench, much like Peter imagined. He’s naked, and moles dot his back at regular intervals. Peter tries to lean forward to lick and nip at his skin, but they’re still knotted with half a wall between them and it’s awkward. He growls in annoyance, settling instead for gripping Stiles’ shoulders with his hands. He’s  _ mostly  _ mindful of his claws.

Stiles lets out a low groan, turning his head to nip at Peter’s knuckles before turning to look at him with bared slim fangs and orange glowing eyes.

Peter’s breath catches, and any thoughts of him being a fox fly out the window. He’s  _ gorgeous.  _ His mate has no right being behind a wall, nothing more than an anonymous hole to fuck into. He deserves to be spoiled, sent to the spa every weekend, have his photo taken professionally, be showered with love and affection and any other worldly desires he has.

Peter’s third orgasm slams into him, wringing any energy he had left and leaving exhaustion in its wake. Stiles whines, grinding against his softening knot for friction.

Peter may be wrung, but he’s never been an inconsiderate lover.

He pulls out and shoves three fingers into Stiles’ hole, crooking them to press on his prostate. It’s with a sob that Stiles finally comes, and Peter pulls his fingers out, falling unceremoniously into the chair next to him, utterly spent.

After a minute, Stiles stands, stepping through the hole in the wall and crawling into Peter’s lap, straddling him. Peter’s arms feel like they have weights attached to them, but he manages to lift them regardless, resting his palms to gently knead Stiles’ ass. Stiles hums and holds his face in between both of his hands, leaning down to kiss him gently.

There’s no fire or hunger behind the action. It’s filled with pure wonder, slow and unrushed, explorative and worshipping. As far as first kisses go, Peter thinks it far surpasses any he’s ever had.

Stiles pulls back after a moment and they stare at each other.

“Hi, I’m Stiles,” he says with an adorable grin.

“Peter,” Peter replies hoarsely, belatedly realizing that Stiles doesn’t know his name yet. Then- “Why are you here?” The question is on the tip of his mind, but he didn’t intend to speak it.

Stiles shrugs, unbothered by the intrusiveness.

“I gotta eat, and I love getting fucked. Plus, I can’t catch any diseases. Seems like an obvious choice.”

Peter marvels at his mate. So confident, so sure of himself. Peter loves it.

Then the door on Stiles’ side of the wall opens, and they both direct their attention at a very upset, exasperated man.

“I am not paying for this.” Once he speaks, Peter knows it’s Chris.

Peter squirms a little, uncomfortable at being seen, but Stiles only laughs, a carefree noise that settles Peter, and pats Peter on the shoulder.

“Oh, my mate will be covering the costs.”

_ Mate.  _

The word sounds like home coming from Stiles’ mouth. The easy acceptance that Peter will provide for him makes him swell with pride. Peter smirks and gives Chris a playful wink, getting only a sigh and rolling eyes in return.

“Fucking shifters,” Peter hears him grumble under his breath when he steps back out of the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Peter and Stiles return their attention to each other with giddy chuckles, sharing another set of soft kisses.

“Come home with me?” Peter asks hopefully, sounding like a lovesick puppy.

“I just met you. Take me out on a date first. I’m not some easy fuck,” Stiles replies, sitting back on Peter’s knees and crossing his arms.

Peter blinks.

“What do you mean, you just met me? We’re mates, and the first thing we  _ did _ was fuck.”

“Yeah, you fucked me as a  _ whore,  _ remember? Not as a lover. Wine and dine me, bitch.”

Peter feels a growl build at the back of his throat. He can already tell that Stiles is going to be a handful and likely drive him up the walls within weeks.

He can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that male foxes are called todds? That’s a thing you know now! I call it clever Stiles hiding in plain sight. Thanks for reading and I hope it put a smile on your face 💕


End file.
